The Forgotten Girl (27 page)

Jason listened to Tricia drive away. She kept the headlights off a long time, and it was only when she went around a bend in the road that Jason caught a brief glimpse of red flaring in the distance. He checked the glowing dials of his watch. Nine o’clock. The air carried some humidity, a sneak preview of the heavier and thicker days and nights to come. He looked around at the blackness. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been so alone in his life. Above, the thin clouds slipped across the moon and stars like wisps of smoke. The sky looked almost unreal, like a special effect.

Jason walked up the road a little way until he came even with the cabin. Crickets and other insects called from the grass and trees. The sound of his shoes against the gravel blended in with the noises of the night. He stopped and stood with his hands in his pockets, his heart beating faster, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. No one knew where he was except Tricia. Not Nora. Not Regan. He turned to the left and looked back down the road in the direction Tricia had driven off. He wondered if he should just leave. He could meet the police—
if
she had called them—and let them lead the way in.

But he couldn’t turn his back. He couldn’t will his body to
walk down that road and away from the cabin if Sierra might be inside. He’d already made the mistake of handing her over to Derrick—and the parade of faces of people he’d walked away from or let slip out of his life seemed to grow longer by the moment. Logan, Hayden, Regan . . . even Nora. Jason felt the frustration ride up his spine, a rigid, aching tension. He gritted his teeth and kicked at the loose pebbles at his feet.

“Hurry,” he said, though no one could hear him, certainly not Tricia, the seventeen-year-old delinquent he had pinned his hopes to. But it made him feel better to say the word. It brought a release, so he said it again and again like a child scared of the dark. “Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.”

He stopped saying it only when the door of the cabin opened, and he saw a young girl backlit from the inside.

He froze and studied her, trying to see who it was.

And then the girl was running. Toward him and away from the cabin.

Jason ran across the road and called out.

“Sierra!”

*   *   *

They reached each other in the dark. Sierra’s hair hung loose and ragged, her eyes bulged wide with fear. Jason took hold of her hands and pulled her close.

“Uncle Jason. You have to go in there.”

“What’s happening? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. I ran away.”

“Who’s inside the cabin?”

“My dad’s in trouble in there. He’s fighting with that guy Jesse Dean. He’s going to hurt my dad. You have to stop him. I got away when they grabbed each other, but I should go back.”

“No,” Jason said. “Go down this road.” He pointed in the dark. “A right, a left, and then a right. Keep going. You’ll come out on County Road Three Hundred. Tricia just went that way.”

“Tricia?”

“She brought me here. She’s getting the police.”

“Will you help Dad?”

The girl’s eyes were pleading in the dark. He saw the fear there, as well as the hope. Was he supposed to turn away again and save himself?

“If you go, I’ll help your dad,” he said. “Go and don’t look back.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. Wait for the police. Now, go.”

Sierra started down the road, picking her way over the gravel in the darkness. Jason waited until she left his sight, and then he turned and headed for the
cabin.

Jason’s shoes brushed across the medium-high grass as he approached the cabin. The door Sierra came through remained ajar, a shaft of light spilling onto the ground. Through the opening, he saw a wooden table, rustic looking, with two chairs standing nearby and another chair tipped over on the floor. A figure quickly passed across the open door, a blurred motion. Jason couldn’t tell if it was Derrick or Jesse Dean or anyone he knew. Then raised voices reached him. A couple of shouts, one in anger and one apparently in pain. Then the angry shouts grew louder.

Jason pressed himself flat against the exterior wall of the cabin. It was made out of rough, weathered boards, and pieces of it grabbed at his clothes. He slid along to the edge of the door, listening. Something thumped inside, then thumped again.

“Derrick?”

The noises stopped, but no one said anything.

“Derrick? It’s Jason.”

Muffled voices came from inside the cabin. Jason couldn’t make out what was being said.

“Derrick?”

“What the fuck, Jason? Get out of here.”

“Sierra’s okay,” Jason said. “She ran off. She wanted me to see how you were.”

“Go,” Derrick said. “You don’t have anything to do with this.”

“I’m coming in,” Jason said. “I’m alone. But the police are on their way.”

More muffled voices and cursing. Then a familiar voice said, “Jason? Get in here. We need you.”

Jason moved quickly, stepping into the open doorway. He blinked in the harsh light. It took his eyes a moment to adjust, and then he saw everything.

He saw Derrick standing over Jesse Dean, who lay motionless on the floor. And crouched next to Jesse Dean, reaching for his neck and then his wrist as though feeling for a pulse, was a woman he recognized all too well. She made a hurry-up gesture toward him with her free hand.

“Get in here, Jason,” she said. “We need you.”

It was Hayden.

*   *   *

“What the hell is going on, Hayden?”

Jason stepped inside.

Hayden kept making the hurry-up gesture with her hand. Jason crossed the wooden plank floor until he was next to her—and standing over Jesse Dean. Jesse Dean’s eyes were closed, his neck bent at an awkward angle. The side of his head that faced Jason showed a long gash, one that ran from just under his hairline and down the length of his cheek to his chin. He didn’t move and didn’t appear to be breathing.

Jason looked at Derrick, who had backed away. He stood against the far wall of the cabin, his eyes fixed on Jesse Dean as
well. He held a thick, gold-plated object in his hand, and it took Jason a moment to realize it was an andiron from the fireplace.

“I don’t think he’s breathing, Jason,” Hayden said. “Can you check?”

Jason bent down, but he kept his eyes on Derrick. A large abrasion showed on Derrick’s cheek, and his shirt was ripped. One of his shoes was off and lying against the wall near where Derrick stood.

“What happened here, Hayden?” Jason asked.

“Just check him. Please. We can explain later.”

Jason wasn’t sure he knew what to do. He hadn’t taken a first aid class since high school. And something about touching Jesse Dean’s body felt odd. He remembered Jesse Dean’s grip against his own neck, the power and the threat carried by those hands that lay stretched out at his side, open and useless.

Jason pressed his fingers against Jesse Dean’s neck. The skin was warm and sweaty. His fingers slipped against the perspiration. Jesse Dean’s skin didn’t seem dead. It lacked the rubbery, clammy feel of his parents’ flesh when he touched them in their caskets. He pressed his fingers against the skin again and felt nothing. He moved his fingers a little. He kept searching, hoping that he’d find a spot that indicated some life still flowed through the man’s body.

“Is there a pulse, Jason?” Derrick asked.

“Let me check his wrist.”

Jason moved down a little, and Hayden scuttled out of the way. He picked up Jesse Dean’s hand and felt around. The skin seemed cooler but still sweaty. Jason moved around, placing his fingers all over the man’s thick wrist.

Nearly under her breath, Hayden said, “Nothing there, right?”

“Let me try this.”

“Quit it, Jason,” Hayden said. “He’s dead. There’s nothing there, right?”

Jason looked up at Derrick, whose eyes were still wide and frightened.

“I don’t feel anything,” Jason said. “I’m not getting a pulse.”

“He’s dead,” Hayden said. “I told you. He’s dead.”

Jason nodded. “I think you’re right.”

Jason stared at Derrick, who shut his eyes tight and leaned back against the wall. He slowly slid down, his knees rising until his butt hit the floor, and then he tipped over to the side in a fetal position. He raised one hand and pounded the floor just once and then stopped.

“My God,” he said. “My God.”

Hayden and Jason stood up. Hayden took a step toward her ex-husband.

“Derrick,” she said, “it’s not your fault.”

“I killed him.”

“You were protecting Sierra. And me.”

“My God.”

“Derrick,” Jason said, “if it was self-defense, you’ll be okay. Jesse Dean is a criminal. The police know that. They’re on their way, and you can tell them exactly what happened.”

Derrick opened his eyes wide. He pushed himself up so that he sat with his back against the wall, his legs straight out in front of him. “The police?” he asked.

“Yes. I called them. Well, Tricia, Sierra’s friend, went to get them. I thought Sierra was in here with Jesse Dean, and I wanted to get help.”

Derrick stood up. He let the andiron go, and it thudded against the floor. His chest started to heave as he breathed more heavily. A flush rose in his cheeks.

“What is it?” Jason asked.

“Derrick?” Hayden said. “Jason’s right. It was self-defense.”

“Get out, Hayden,” Derrick said.

“Derrick—”

“Where’s Sierra?” he asked.

“She left,” Jason said. “I sent her back to the main road. She’s running away to find Tricia. If the police are coming, they’ll pass her on the way in. She’ll be fine.”

“Get out, Hayden,” Derrick said again.

“It’s self-defense.”

“They’ll find out everything,” he said. “All of it.” He sounded calmer as he repeated himself. “All of it.”

“All of what?” Jason asked.

“Get out, Hayden. Go find Sierra. Make sure she’s okay. That’s your job now, making sure Sierra’s okay.”

“Derrick—”

“Get out,” he said, his voice rising temporarily and then calming again. “Get out. I want to talk to Jason. Alone. Man-to-man. I want to be here with Jason.”

Jason turned to Hayden. “Do it. Go. Make sure Sierra’s okay.”

Hayden leaned in close to her brother. “He has a gun.”

Jason tried not to show any reaction to what she said, although he wasn’t sure he succeeded. Her words only added to the fear slowly growing inside of his chest, the knot that bundled together and swelled with each breath he took.

“We’ll be okay,” he said, hoping his voice sounded as calm as he wanted it to. He reached out and gently nudged his sister toward the door. “Just go find Sierra. Follow the road back to the right.”

Hayden looked at Jason as though she wanted to say something else, but Jason shook his head.

“Just go,” he said.

Hayden looked at both of them, and then she left the
cabin.

“Close the door,” Derrick said to Jason when Hayden was gone.

“Derrick, we can still just walk away from this—”

“Close the door,” he said again.

When he spoke, he shifted his hand, which had been stuffed into his jacket pocket. Jason looked down and saw that Derrick had eased something out of the pocket a few inches, the butt of a black handgun. Jason nodded, the gesture meant to show his former brother-in-law that he understood who controlled the situation.

“Close the door,” Derrick said one more time. “I don’t want Hayden or Sierra to hear any of this.”

“They’re gone.”

“Just close it.”

Jason backed up the few steps, Derrick watching him all the way. He reached out and gave the door a gentle nudge. It swung shut, the latch clicking.

“Okay?” Jason asked.

Derrick seemed to relax a little, but his eyes still looked wide and red. He kept one hand—his right—tucked into the jacket pocket. The other hung at his side, and he clenched it into a fist and unclenched it as he stood there.

“How long before the police get here?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. I don’t even know if the girl notified them. She took my car. She could be on her way to Florida for all I know.”

“But if she did tell them? If she made the call right away?”

“Ten minutes, I guess. Maybe less. We’re pretty isolated. Our phones weren’t working.”

“I know. That’s why Jesse Dean brought us here.”

“What is this all about, Derrick? Why was Hayden here? And Sierra? What did Jesse Dean want with them?”

Derrick reached up with his free hand and rubbed his eyes. Then he brushed his hand across the top of his head, letting out a long sigh as he did so. “I’m tired,” he said. “I’ve been up for two days.”

“You came out here after you left our house?”

“I did. I needed to bring Sierra to Jesse Dean. That’s the only thing I could do. He wouldn’t rest until he saw her in the flesh.” His composure cracked even more. His chin quivered.

“You brought your daughter to Jesse Dean?”

“I didn’t have any choice. I thought if I brought Sierra out here, then maybe Jesse Dean would let both of them go, Sierra and Hayden. I thought maybe he’d be done with them.”

“What did he want them for? What does Sierra have to do with it?”

“Can’t you guess what this is all about?” Derrick started to pace, side to side in front of the wall, one hand still in his coat pocket. “Don’t you know?”

“It’s about Logan?”

“Yes.”

“Jesse Dean killed him, right?”

“Mostly. I mean, yes, Jesse Dean killed him. But he didn’t do
it alone. Do you know who helped him kill Logan and bury his body in the woods?”

“You?”

“Yes, yes. Me.” He continued the pacing. He still wore only one shoe, so he moved with an awkward shifting gait.
Step-clomp.
Step-clomp.
Again he raised his hand and ran it through his hair. “I helped him kill your buddy Logan. Pretty boy, rich boy Logan. And we buried him in the woods on graduation night. Hell of a present when you get right down to it.”

Jason swallowed. “Why did you kill Logan?”

Derrick stopped pacing. “You always thought we were trash, didn’t you? Troublemakers. Hillbillies.”

Jason couldn’t—wouldn’t—deny it. He had always looked down on Jesse Dean as well as Derrick.

“You lumped me in with Jesse Dean,” Derrick said. “Your family did. I wasn’t good enough for Hayden, even when she was drinking a fifth of vodka mixed with grape juice before school every day. Even that didn’t make her fit for me.”

“That was a long time ago,” Jason said. “Things change. Lord knows you were better for Sierra a lot of the time. Better than Hayden.”

“A long time ago?” Derrick said. “Nothing is a long time ago in this life. Doesn’t it feel like just yesterday we were all up on that bluff on the night of graduation? Tell me, how long ago does that seem?”

“Sometimes it feels like five minutes,” Jason said. “Other times like it was another life.”

Jason saw beads of sweat popping out on Derrick’s forehead, and in the enclosed space of the cabin, he smelled body odor, some combination of anger and fear leaking out of his ex-brother-in-law’s
body. Jason looked down where Jesse Dean lay. His pants were stained around the crotch, a physiological release of urine at the moment of death. It added to the pungent mixture of smells brewing in the heat of the room.

“Did Hayden know you killed Logan?” Jason asked.

“She knew enough.”

“And she wrote those cards to Logan’s dad to cover for you?”

Surprise showed on Derrick’s face. “How did you ever see those? Did you go out to pretty boy’s house or something?”

“I did. I saw Hayden’s handwriting.”

“That was her idea. Her and Jesse Dean’s. They had a lot of ideas together, I guess. I was opposed to it. I thought it would just call more attention to the fact that Logan was gone. I thought his parents would take one look at those cards and say, ‘That wasn’t written by my son.’ Hayden thought she was so clever, and so did Jesse Dean. I guess they were right, weren’t they? Everybody believed he was still alive all those years until they dug him up on the Bluff. Hayden and Jesse Dean. They made quite a team.”

“Why did you kill Logan, Derrick? Was Hayden cheating on you with him? Is that it? Was it jealousy?”

Derrick was shaking his head. “Your sister’s a whore, and Jesse Dean and I are trash who settle our problems by killing somebody. Is that it?”

“What was it, then? Why did you do it?”

“What makes you think we had a choice?”

“Why wouldn’t you have had a choice?”

Derrick froze. He raised his hand, the index finger extended.

“What?” Jason asked.

“Shh.” His hand remained in the air, and he tilted his head. “Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“Listen.”

Jason turned his head toward the front of the cabin. He heard nothing at first; then something emerged from the quiet night. A soft rushing. It sounded like—

“It’s a car,” Derrick said. “Shit. The police.”

“It might be Tricia.”

“It’s the police.” He started pacing again. “I killed Jesse Dean. I killed Logan. That’s all they’re going to hear.”

“Tell them the truth. You were protecting your family.”

“They don’t care about that. Not with a guy like me. Look at you. You can’t help but think I’m a killer.”

“Sierra and Hayden will back you up.”

“I got arrested again. Almost two years ago. Assault. That’s why I had to get a new job. I punched my boss.”

“It’s okay.”

“That’s why I didn’t see Sierra. If they know about this—”

Derrick stopped pacing. He pulled the gun out of his jacket pocket and turned it toward Jason.

Everything in Jason’s body went cold. Something unclenched in the center of his body, and he thought his bowels might release right then and right there.

“Derrick—”

“Get out.”

Jason started backing away.

“Faster. Get out.”

“Don’t fight with the police, Derrick. Drop the gun. They’ll kill you if they see you with that.”

“Get out. Go. If Sierra’s out there, take her away from here. I still care about her, even if people have always disrespected me. That doesn’t change things with her and me. Tell her that.”

“What would change that? Killing Jesse Dean?”

“Go.”

Jason stopped at the door. His shaking hand rested on the knob.

“Come out, Derrick.”

Derrick shook his head. He pointed the gun at Jason’s torso. “Last chance,” he said. “Go.”

Jason didn’t hesitate. He fumbled the door open and stepped out into the night.